


the tragedians will tell our tale

by gravitycomplex



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Marriage Proposal, Sort Of, Soulmates, Trans Male Character, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-07
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:28:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21709762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravitycomplex/pseuds/gravitycomplex
Summary: He was the most beautiful creature gifted to the Steppe, and Cullen had no shame in wanting him.He was the most shameless of all menkhu, and Dorian couldn’t help but find him entertaining.Mother Boddho surely wanted this to happen.[A Pathologic AU]
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	the tragedians will tell our tale

**Author's Note:**

> if you don't know shit about pathologic... go watch one of the good videos about pathologic - the 2 hours long ones (specifically the hbomberguy one)  
> no really  
> go do it
> 
> now, did i write this because im some sort of pretentious asshole, because the universe required me to, because i tend to hyperfixate on stuff sometimes but specially when im extremely stressed over life and college?  
> yes
> 
> why is dorian a herb bride you ask? because i say so and i am god of this world now
> 
> btw, thank you ice pick logic for making pathologic like super ambiguous about in game lore wise so i can write whatever i want and headcanon all the shit i want bless ye and yer confusing russian literature in game form

Mother Boddho created every one of her children beautiful, no one would ever argue such things. No one would deny the beauty of the Steppe, neverending and sometimes savage, and so no one would, by association, deny the beauty of its children — full of the life the Earth had gifted them with.

Cullen considered, however, the same one any person can consider many unreasonable thoughts, that there was one between them who possessed beauty superior to all Kin, maybe to all creatures of the Earth combined.

He had not understood, at the beginning, before he was taught about the Lines and the Way, before he could see the Lines in that which he cut. His father had been kind in his teachings, and Cullen’s hands had moved as if it was the natural way of his body — he was made to cut and allow the Earth to feed of the blood it had given birth to, at the beginning of the universe.

He’d been taught of the layers of the body — the blood, the bones, the nerves, — of the ways to connect with them, of the herbs to use and of their voices, of the contemplative silences with which one should watch a Herb Bride dance — thankful for their beauty and for the communion with the Earth they desperately need, thankful for the herbs their dances bring to the surface.

Cullen had been taught the methods to cut the dead, human and bull. He’d been taught how to be a menkhu, although he was sure he would never amount to any position that required such compromise. He would never become an Elder.

A part of him wished he’d been taught about love beyond that which was held for the Kin and the Earth.

The creature had appeared in the Steppe, so far away from the Town that Cullen had almost thought he’d been in front of a mirage — he’d been sent to pick whatever twyre he could find, they were running low, and his feet had taken him to a road not taken before, farther from where the Herb Brides usually danced.

There, dancing to the silence of the Steppe, he was.

As he danced swevery grew around his feet, the touch of his hands causing its flowers to bloom. His steps were light but practiced — every part of his body was holy. The painting on his body a red so bright it might as well have been blood, his tattered clothes were no different from any Bride, and yet—

Cullen understood that day that his Way already belonged to someone, that his Lines had been knitted together with another’s from the day of his birth. It was a blessing from Mother Boddho herself, it was a gift from the Earth and test to his heart and lungs.

He would be forever heartbroken with such a creature far from him.

He would be forever breathless with such a creature close him.

The curse of waiting for the time to hold a body against his own. Not just a body, but the body of the one who had been made for him, the one he had been made for.

Five years from that encounter, it repeated — on purpose this time. Cullen was sent to find herbs once more, ashen swish specifically, and he’d walked to the same point, the same road very few had walked before him, hopeful that he’d see the body among the swevery.

He’s there, dancing as he had five years prior, the herbs at his feet thankful for his very existence.

This time, he stopped, noticing Cullen’s presence. He’d been noticing his presence for quite some time, Cullen knows, because he had been able to ask for his name, to ask questions one does not ask to a Herb Bride, and sometimes even managed to stop him from dancing halfway — something many would consider an impossibility.

Dorian smiled when he saw him. He looked amused.

“Menkhu, are you looking for something? No blood has been shed here, if you’re looking for ashen swish. I heard it’s been lacking.” Dorian doesn’t move from where he stands, but the herbs at his feet keep growing, slower than before.

Maybe his dance is an excuse, unlike the other brides.

“I was looking for ashen swish, but I was also hoping to find you.”

This seemed to interest Dorian. He moved a single step closers. The herbs seemed to grow now slightly twisted to the direction of his feet.

“You were looking for me? What do you need one such as myself for?” The question is asked without malice, but it feels off. Cullen wonders if Dorian had never noticed, the way their Lines curl around one another, as if they’d been the same cord, born of the same skein.

“My father told me I am old enough to choose a bride.” He said, as if it was the most obvious of news.

“I see. It is a great time for you, menkhu. A life with less blood, surely… At least until childbirth becomes part of it. Did you come to ask me for a particular bride’s preferences? Or are you simply looking for advice when it comes to women? I am afraid I’m not knowledgeable about such things. Should have asked your father. Or your brother. He will be a father soon, won’t he?”

“He will.” Cullen smiled. “But we are not to be talking about him. I am looking for the one who will become my bride.”

One of Dorian’s eyebrows raised ever so lightly, an expression Cullen had never seen before in such a face.

“I might be a Herb Bride, but you must know by now, I am not a _bride_.” He didn’t sound upset, but he was no doubt resolute on this. “I will be no one’s _bride_ , menkhu.”

“If you marry a menkhu, you will be a bride, if only because any who marry a menkhu are considered brides, no matter who they are.” Cullen wasn’t sure why he was explaining such things, Dorian knew this. Maybe he was simply trying to justify himself.

“Ah.” Dorian moved even closer, close enough that if he stretched his hand he could grab onto Cullen. The Steppe was thankfully quiet, even the voices of the herbs had receded, respectful of their privacy. “And then what, menkhu? Maybe I do not wish to bare you children, maybe I do not wish to abandon the Earth — maybe I wish to be cut open like you do the dead, and marry the Earth from which I came.”

“Even I know those words are lies.” Cullen knew better, Dorian was far too overdramatic. “I would never force you to do anything you wouldn’t wish for, Dorian — you will bare children if you wish to, in whatever way you feel it is proper for you. I would not try to control the Earth we stand on, that gave birth to our people, much less would I try to control one of her children.” He moved a hand and touche Dorian’s hair, long and messy, vines and flowers wrapped in it, covering his naked chest.

Dorian allowed him to touch it, his eyes settled on Cullen’s.

“I suppose—” Dorian began, with the same tone of voice a mother would speak to a rowdy child. “—I might consider your offer, menkhu. But you will have to remember what you’ve said to me today. And I will not allow _you_ to call me bride, tradition or not.”

Cullen took Dorian’s hands in his own, carefully, softly. This man’s Way had always been his own, and Cullen’s Way had belong to him as well, but soon even those who did not understand such things would see it, and the happiness he felt was barely contained.

Dorian smiled for a moment, a singular second where the Earth did not move, before pushing him down onto the body of Mother Boddho, sitting on top of him with absolutely no shame — those tattered clothes of him barely covered enough to be considered proper, sitting down on his lap made it quite worse.

Had he not been blushing, Cullen might’ve believed himself to be losing every single drop of his blood.

He stared down at him, amused.

“So? You said you wished to make me your bride, menkhu. Shouldn’t you be doing something about it?” Dorian was being purposely mockful. He must have known Cullen carried none of the implements for such a thing, that he had come for permission first and unwillingness was not something he was interested in from whoever he were to take.

“Do not play with me like this, I have not the methods to defend myself from you.” Cullen smiled, willing his blush away, his eyes on Dorian’s face so as to avoid looking at any other part of him. “And I do have a name, which I wish you to use. I do not call you Herb Bride all the time, do I?”

“No, I suppose you do not.”

Dorian took one of Cullen’s hands, pressing it against the center of his chest, between his breasts, and snaked his other hand under Cullen’s clothes, to press it against his chest — Cullen’s other hand pressed against Dorian’s.

It was not a marriage, not yet. It was but a promise for when he had collected what was needed.

That day, he would lay Dorian on the Earth that had given birth to him, around the herbs he had danced for, herbs that smell as sweet as he did, and he would gift himself to him. That was what had been decided, since he understood his own Lines, for they had taken him to Dorian and he hoped Dorian’s own had taken him towards Cullen at some point.

“What was it that you needed, menkhu? Ashen swish you said?”

“Yes. You were quite right before, we are running low.”

Dorian smiled. The hand he kept on Cullen’s chest moved down, to the edge of his pants, patting there until he found what he was looking for — Cullen kept a knife on him, a knife no one but menkhu should touch, not that Dorian cared much for such things.

He got up, leaving Cullen on the ground, and cut at the center of his hands, allowing blood to flow. Cullen sat, staring as Dorian moved farther away, his blood dripping onto the Earth, feeding it.

Once he had found his place, Dorian began dancing.

It was different from other dances Cullen had witnessed from him, there was something soft and melancholic in it. As if he was giving the Earth a final gift, before he abandoned it forever.

Cullen’s mother had been a Herb Bride too. She did not dance as before, the herbs did not grow at her feet, even if she heard their words.

Dorian knew what he was abandoning and what he was abandoning it for.

Cullen felt guilt, for what he was going to do, but he could not regret it. Maybe Dorian didn’t regret it either. Maybe that was why he had not put much of a fight when it came to Cullen’s request.

As he danced, ashen swish grew where his blood had touched the Earth.

Cullen waited until Dorian had been done, firstly taking his knife back, and secondly bandanging Dorian’s hands. He had not bled much, but it’d been enough for several tinctures.

“Your mother came to see me not so long ago. She wished to dance like she used to, and we danced together for some time.” Dorian began, as Cullen continued to care for his hands. “She asked me, quite kindly in fact, when I would become her new son… is she so tired of you and your brother, that she needs me to find something worthwhile in her sons?”

The laugh coming out of Cullen’s mouth was uncontrollable. He simply couldn’t help himself. He had truly been made for this man, and this man had been made for him.

With Dorian’s hands properly bandaged, Cullen began the work of reaping the newly grown herbs. Dorian stared at him curiously, allowing him whatever space and silence Cullen required.

Cullen looked at his hands, filled with ashen swish and swevery and some twyre that had been mixed in. It would take him some time to separate each branch, but he was happy to do so once he returned home — today the Earth had truly gifted him everything he had wanted, no only what he needed.

Finished with his labour, Cullen turned to look at Dorian, who was still looking at him. He walked towards him. Each step felt heavier than the last.

“When I have what I need, I will return. Please wait for me until then.”

Dorian chuckled.

“I have waited this long, Cullen. I can wait two more weeks.”

Cullen’s heart hit against his ribs from the strength of its beating, to hear his name said by the one he’d been destined to was the most exquisite sort of pain. 

All he could do was nod, however. Dorian was kind enough to take pity on him, allowing him a single kiss before he began his walk back to the Town and his home.

In two weeks time he would collect what was needed and Dorian’s dance would be for him, and their Ways and eyes would belong to each other.

Until then he walked home. His blood and bones and nerves felt as if they were burning, his entire body felt as if flames had engulfed him.

He thanked Boddho for her gifts until the words lost meaning.

**Author's Note:**

> also buy pathologic and/or pathologic 2  
> no really  
> they good  
> well, mostly pathologic 2 is good  
> the original has a lotta jank  
> but it good  
> in a bad way  
> but good


End file.
